


not in a thousand years

by wintermelone



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:07:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23398939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintermelone/pseuds/wintermelone
Summary: “I spun her gold and she is waiting for me to collect what is mine.”It feels like a sacrilege to talk about Alana while Hannibal is holding him like this, so Will disentangles just enough to look into his eyes and lay his hand on his companion’s cheek.“Will you?”The question has no ulterior motive, it is a debt between Hannibal and Alana, Will has nothing to do with it.Hannibal’s face stays the same, not betraying his thoughts.“What do you think?”
Relationships: Alana Bloom/Margot Verger, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 49





	not in a thousand years

Shadows conceal him, but Hannibal knows with every fiber of his being that Will shrouds himself with them, wearing them well like one might wear an evening-gown or a diamond necklace.

Hannibal turns his head to greet his companion with the undivided focus of his whole attention, the lover in him slipping past the predator’s teeth as their eyes meet in the twilight of a warm summer night.

Will takes his rightful place at Hannibal’s side, his bright eyes glittering in the moonlight and both of them are reminded of a night so similar to this one, but so long gone it might have been a whole other life.

And indeed - it had been a lifetime ago, the life they shared now baptized in the dragon’s blood, winged by fate and freedom.

Together they follow the graveled driveway, the stone’s dry crunching drown out the night’s sounds, as if the arrival of a greater predator had put the other beasts of prey to shame and silence.

There is a flurry in a nearby flowerbed and for a moment it looks like the taller one of the two might reach out and take his companion’s hand.

But in the end he doesn’t.

They are undisturbed right until they reach the mansion’s doubled doors, then they stop and share another look.

“Tell me, Will,” Hannibal’s voice is low and even, as if they were taking a stroll, instead of being poised to break and enter into the Verger’s estate to break and end Alana, “Would you ever say to me ‘Stop. If you love me, you stop.’?”

Their gazes hold and Will can feel the breath hitch in his throat as he looks at Hannibal with something that could be adoration.

“No,” It’s more of a breath than a word and so he adds, now firmer:”No, not in a thousand years.”

The corners of Hannibal’s mouth raise just the smallest fraction and he repeats his lover’s words as if they were a vow on a wedding day.

“No… Not in a thousand years… That’s my boy.”

His next motion is fast, he pulls Will close and cups the back of his head with his hand, fingers buried in the dark curls and he inhales the unique scent that still lingers on Will’s skin.

A shudder goes through Will, as Hannibal’s thumb brushes over the clothed scar on his abdomen, before it wraps around Will’s torso.

Slowly, slowly Will’s hands rise to reciprocate the embrace and he clings to the fabric of Hannibal’s shirt in the mirror image to the night he had wagered and lost everything he had held dear.

But the shattered teacup had come together again, so his grip tightens, this time not in pain but in the desire to keep Hannibal close, close, close, so close that he would never slip through his fingers like he had done before.

They stay like this for a long while.

Will can hear Hannibal’s throat click with a swallow before he speaks up again.

“I spun her gold and she is waiting for me to collect what is mine.”

It feels like a sacrilege to talk about Alana while Hannibal is holding him like this, so Will disentangles just enough to look into his eyes and lay his hand on his companion’s cheek.

“Will you?”

The question has no ulterior motive, it is a debt between Hannibal and Alana, Will has nothing to do with it.

Hannibal’s face stays the same, not betraying his thoughts.

“What do you think?”

Will remains quiet for a heartbeat, a wrinkle appearing in between his eyebrows.

“I don’t think you will.”

The words come slowly, as if his tongue has to fight through molasses, but they gain confidence with every syllable spoken.

“She lives her life in fear of you. Every waking moment is devoted to her dread, that you could take away what she holds close, so much that it paralyzes her, that life slips past her.”

A breathless laugh escapes Will’s lips and he concludes:

“Her life is yours. This is your design.”   
Hannibal stays silent, gaze ghosting over Will’s features, undoubtedly adding them to a room of his memory palace solely gifted to his lover.

“That’s my boy.” 

He repeats his earlier praise and takes Will’s hand in his.


End file.
